Lost
by silmelinde
Summary: When a long sought bounty comes in sight, what risk can a man take to capture her?


**LOST**

The rays of sunlight peeked through the lumpy clouds, colouring the deck with a golden light of a late afternoon. The wind was medium in strength, speeding the ship fast through the grey sea. The _Dauntless_, moody all day, was going steadily eastward in broad reach to the Tripoli coast. The masts creaked. Small shudders went through the ship whenever a particularly strong gust of wind ruffled her sails.

The nervousness of his ship transferred to Commodore. The weather might have been safe currently, but at sea the appearances were deceiving. It was best to predict problems and take measures in advance rather than dealing with them once they arose. He examined an on board barometer, sure he would find a confirmation to his suspicions.

"The atmospheric pressure is too low. There's going to be a storm," said Lieutenant Warren. He too looked at the barometer over Commodore's shoulder. The mercury inside the instrument had fallen below the red line.

"I believe so. We are due for a change of wind."

"I hope that is all that happens," said Warren. "I've heard, at this time of the year North gales are kings of these waters and fierce ones at that. I'd hate to be caught in the middle of one."

They went to the railing to examine the sea. Dark clouds were gathering on the horizon to the northeast. The _Dauntless_ was heading towards the area that was turning increasingly less welcoming.

"It might be best to change course and sail up the coast to the Island of Djerba," Warren suggested.

Norrington hesitated. Last evening, he had been informed by a passing merchant vessel that they've sighted the _Black Pearl_. His enemy was near. Norrington did not want to waste time going back to the place that they've finished searching less than three days ago; meanwhile the pirates might leave these waters. He will not be able to locate the enemy again in days, maybe weeks. Yet, this was not the first time he had been given sightings. They've been hot on the trail over a month, but have not yet seen her. Perhaps they've been chasing a ghost. He was about to order the change of course when a shout from the crow's nest stopped him.

"Black sails, four rhumbs on the portside!"

Lieutenant Groves appeared on deck at a run. He stopped beside Commodore to examine the sea through his telescope. Warren handed his telescope to his commanding officer.

Norrington searched the horizon. There was a ship with black sails heading southeast in beam reach, precariously at the edge of the storm. She looked like she was trying to slip across the waves to take cover at Tripoli before the sea fully unleashed its might.

"My God, it's the Black Pearl!" Groves exclaimed. "And she's stuck between us and the storm. I wonder if we can sink her before the storm hits. The wind is working in our favour." He was trembling and his eyes were lit with a call to arms. It was the ancient call to war that was dormant but always alive at the hearts of men. It was contagious. Norrington felt it too.

"Keep our current bearing; it intersects with theirs," he commanded. "Let's raise more sail. It's a bit risky, but the faster we catch them the better."

"How will we bear a storm with a damaged ship and possibly convicts onboard after the battle?" Warren questioned.

"What do you propose; that we let them go when we finally see them?" said Groves. "You were a stick in the mud since day one. You've been warned fairly about the nature of this expedition. Every single one of us had been given a choice not to go, in fact offered more than once at every port. Why did you go with us if you hate it?"

"Somebody has got to be the voice of reason," Warren parried.

Norrington shot him a sharp look.

"Forgive me, Sir. I was out of line."

"Keep our current heading. We will turn back only if the conditions become too dangerous," said Norrington. He knew they would.

After an hour, the sky turned grey. The sun, scraping the horizon, was getting lost among the clouds. Medium height waves with white foam flew around them. The ship lost steady rhythm. She advanced fast, jerking and wavering, influenced by the slightest change of wind. The ships were rapidly coming together.

"Should I notify the crew to get ready for battle?" Groves questioned.

Norrington shook his head. He didn't want to give them a false start and then cancel the order. It just seemed too easy. He didn't trust how quickly they were catching Sparrow's ship. His hunch proved to be right. Groves, whose telescope was constantly fixed on the other vessel, let out a curse. "They're changing course!" he exclaimed.

With a bad feeling, Norrington raised his telescope as well. His throat constricted in anger. Why didn't Sparrow have any common sense? He had to do everything unlike any normal people. The _Black Pearl_ was turning her back on the pursuing ship to head straight for the storm where the sky was dark with the flares of lightening shimmering dully through the low, heavy clouds.

"We can't let them get away," Groves insisted. "If some mangy pirates are willing to take on the storm, the Royal Navy officers can do it too."

"Tacking starboard," said Norrington. "Follow them northeast. Raise every sail we have."

Norrington understood his lieutenant's feelings. When he was selecting a crew, he chose those who held outmost dislike for the pirates. Many of these people suffered personal tragedies at the hands of those villains. They were anxious for battle. One did not arm his men, promise them a fight and then keep them without an action to no end.

Their sailing had been mostly uneventful. In the Caribbean and Atlantic not only have they not seen the _Black Pearl_, but not a single pirate ship had crossed paths with them. It was as if all the pirates had been warned about the heavily armed Navy vessel and hurried to get out of her way. Entering the Mediterranean waters, where Muslims held influence, had changed that. A ship sailed by the unfaithful men was a bounty. Being distracted by such attacks would soon turn their search more difficult. It was another reason in favour of sinking Sparrow's ship sooner than later.

Needless to say, the _Dauntless_ was like a bloodhound that finally sensed her worst enemy near. Although Norrington had a good grasp on discipline, he felt the leash was strained when the enemy came in sight. Turning back meant making a lot of his crew members angry.

"We are gaining on them," said Groves. His cheeks were flushed and his hand kept dropping onto his belt close to a sword handle.

"That's because they have lowered most of their sails, meanwhile we are going at a full speed," Warren pointed out. "Even that fool of a captain knows better." He snapped his mouth shut, realizing that once again he insulted Norrington.

Their situation, however, was becoming dangerous. The ship on the running was difficult to control. The wind picked up to forty five knots. The waves grew larger and splashed heavily against the _Dauntless_. The masts creaked at the bases dangerously. It was difficult even for the experienced sailors to keep footing. The ship was craning and shaking alarmingly.

"Do you realize that this chance may not repeat itself?" said Groves testily. "We are not a sea patrol. We were given a long leave, three months mind you, by the Governor to chase down the pirates, but our station and function is to guard Port Royal. One month is up. If we turn back now, we might not catch them. We will have to go home completely disgraced. It's insanity to waste so much money and time on an expedition only to turn back when we are a step away from completing our purpose."

"We might be a step away from keeling over," said Warren coldly.

"You're exaggerating."

"Are you not? Two months; that's a lot of time left."

Listening to them was extremely vexing. It was akin to hearing his doubts spoken out loud. So far, James had managed to keep a grip on reality. They have taken many risks along the way, but he had always made sure to keep his ship safe. Not one man of his crew had been injured. Those risks had been well measured and justified. His sense of right and years of commanding experience had kept him from radical steps even when he was under an enormous emotional strain.

The responsibility for the lives of his men and the desire to sink the _Black Pearl_ to put an end to his inner anguish intertwined into a tight ball that was stuck in his throat. His chest hurt, his emotions obscured his breathing. He turned sharply and walked away from the arguing pair to arrange his thoughts.

"Commodore!" Warren ran after him to the fore. "Please, Commodore!"

"What is it?" he yelled.

Lieutenant grabbed onto the railing, his fingers turning white. It was one thing to argue with Groves and another to voice his doubts to his commanding officer. A large wave hit the front of the ship, covering both men over-head. Warren coughed. The after impact burned like a cold slap across Norrington's face. The sea looked tremulous. What was he doing? Had he forgotten that this was a far more dangerous opponent than the pirates? A sailor, he was comfortable with the sea, but no sailor should have forgotten its power and the wrath it could muster. He shot one lingering look at the _Black Pearl_ and then turned his back on her.

"We have too much on. Take in the studding, stow the flying jib, take in mizzen top-sails and let go the fore-top bowline," he commanded.

In great relief, Warren called out the orders.

Once he let go of the _Black Pearl_, Norrington considered how to handle the approaching storm. It was too late to change the course radically and too unfavourable to fight against the wind that was pushing them rapidly towards the black clouds. His eyes settled on the line of horizon, the same place that Captain Sparrow must have had in mind before he had crossed paths with the Royal Navy. "Change course to ESE. We will head to Tripoli for cover." Norrington thought that further preparations had to be made. "Lower the halyards, man the cue-lines and bunt-lines, clue close up, haul out the reef-tackles, heal in the weather-brace, steady the lee-brace, haul taut the top-sail halyards."

He looked up to the masts where his crew was carrying out the orders. They struggled with the upper sails that should have been taken in much earlier. The situation was not pleasant, but not overly-threatening, yet.

Groves came up to them for orders. His eyes held a reproach. "Sir, we will discontinue pursuit of the Black Pearl?" He was unable to resist asking.

Norrington swallowed his anger. He wanted to do as Groves had suggested and he would have, had it been only his life to risk. "We postpone it. I doubt, as lucky as he is, that Sparrow will get through this storm unscratched. We are not leaving the area, only changing course to a safer location. Once the storm is over, we will sail looking for him. Hopefully, he won't get far." He shot a warning look to Warren in case the young sailor had anything to add. "We are certainly not going back yet. I would rather avoid this storm, but we will sail through it if we have to."

Suddenly, the deck tipped alarmingly accompanied by a loud screech. The ship shuddered. As Norrington lost his balance, Warren grabbed his arm to steady him. They ran to the helm, sure that the problem originated there.

"Commodore, there is a problem. We cannot turn full starboard. The helm gets stuck."

"I thought we have fixed the helm at the last port when you said there was a minor disturbance with it."

The helmsman shuffled his feet uneasily, clearly uncomfortable with Norrington glaring down on him. Lieutenant Warren interfered.

"It used to be a far lesser problem. We've hired the master who should have fixed it by evening while the crew went ashore. When we got back, he had his tools all around him and he was drunk as a pig. We were going to pour a bucket of water over him to ask if he did what he was hired to do, but then you came aboard and ordered an immediate departure because you received news on the Black Pearl. So, we tossed him with his tools off board and set sail."

"Why haven't you told me that you weren't sure whether the helm was fully functional? There are no such things as minor weaknesses. The sea exploits them and makes them into much larger problems."

"I'm sorry, Commodore, it was my error of judgement. I thought it was unimportant enough to be disturbing your orders."

The man was looking down and James felt a pang of consciousness. Had he intimidated his crew so much that they were afraid to speak to him? That never happened before. It was true that he was more withdrawn and harsh. The last month he lived in a haze. He tended to keep his troubles close to his heart, retreating into his work whenever he was hurt – and he certainly was when the woman he loved chose another.

One of the reasons he wanted to hunt Sparrow was to be away from the Swann family. Granted, Sparrow had caused him more trouble than any other pirate by stealing the _Interceptor_, but he did not hate the pirate as much as he showed. He simply needed to hate someone. It was a made up reason to live. He was holding onto an inner rage, otherwise, he sensed that he could fall into depression. He hoped that soon he would find a better feeling to sustain him, but for some reason the sea hadn't healed his heart. Still, even if he had no emotional strength, he felt guilty about his lack of professionalism. He should have pulled it out of himself even if he had none.

"I am sorry, Mr Warren," he apologized quietly. "In the future please feel free to tell me about any disturbances, even if I am in an insufferable mood."

"You haven't been yourself, Sir," Warren said softly, so only James could hear. "But, everyone here is willing to die following your orders. We are honoured to serve with you. Perhaps, you will consider re-joining an officer table and have a dinner with us, once we get through this storm."

The lieutenant was right again. Whenever James was off-duty he locked himself in his cabin, pouring over the maps, making calculations and trying to guess where the _Black Pearl_ might be. He had not been sociable. Perhaps, that was what he needed, his friends.

"Thank you," he said truthfully, touched by the offered loyalty. "I will consider it. But, first let's take care of the _Dauntless_. Send the crew up to hand the sail. Before they get there, go on the yard, clap the rolling tackle on to steady it and after the sail is handed, piece of canvass abreast of the lee top-mast shrouds. Take in the main-top sail."

"Yes, Sir," Warren smiled. He hoped he was able to get through to the man he always admired. He wanted to help in drawing Norrington away from whatever unpleasant memories he was suffering. Warren served under Norrington's command for two years and had plenty of opportunities to witness his bravery, dedication and outstanding leadership. This was a man to learn from. Eventually, he hoped to befriend this man who stood a few feet away, evaluating his ship with a sharp eye.

Norrington was concerned. He couldn't deny growing danger. Although, removing the extra sails calmed the ship and returned balance to her, the waves rolled back and forth across the lower decks, threatening to sweep overboard anyone who wasn't careful enough. The _Dauntless_ was too heavy. In addition to the crew, she also carried the soldiers, the extra provision, but most importantly she was loaded with heavy weaponry. There were over a hundred cannons at ports. The ammunition too was adding to the weight and sinking the ship down to her limit.

"Mr Groves, please summon all soldiers to the third and second decks and clear all cannons and ammunition from there," he ordered.

"Clear it?" Groves exclaimed surprised. What were they going to do if they met pirates without most of their weapons?

"Mr Groves, 'clear the cannons' does not imply dress the soldiers in aprons and have them blow the dust off the cannons, it means throw the cannons overboard please," Norrington said, a note of sarcasm surfacing.

Lieutenant blinked and then grinned uncertainly. "Yes, Sir!" Was Commodore making a joke? That side of him hadn't been present since they began hunting that damn pirate. It was good to see it again.

Groves ran off to pass on the orders. It might have been harsh to ask the soldiers to throw their weapons into the sea, but he needed the entire crew to focus on sailing the ship. "Mr Warren, get the crew to lower the main and set sails to three reefs."

First rain drops hit the deck. Norrington wondered how the _Black Pearl_ was faring. The ship disappeared in the mist as silently as she came. It was a bad idea to fight in the storm, so he had let her go, but he was unable to resist having one more shot at it. He shrugged off the lingering thoughts and went to check their course. They should be approaching Tripoli within an hour. He was not confident that they will get there in time. He wanted to stay at the edge of the storm, but the course he selected brought him closer to it. It would have been better to go SSE instead, except, that would have taken them too close to Ramkeen island. That cursed piece of rock wrecked too many ships as it was. Thus, to get to a safe spot, he had to risk getting closer to danger.

Tripoli was surrounded by a chain of rocky islands. He ordered to tuck in all sails except the absolute necessary ones for manoeuvring to help in avoiding collisions. The _Dauntless_ had bare masts. They no longer sailed under the light of day. The visibility was decreasing as rapidly as waves were rising in height. The wind turned inconsistent, changing directions at will. It grew in strength to fifty five knots, howling and snapping at the ropes.

"I don't suppose we are in trouble," Groves told him. "I don't think we will be able to find the entrance to the bay in this darkness." He had to shout to be heard over the roar of the wind.

"I don't think we'll be able to find land when I can barely see you two feet away," Norrington told him. "Tell the helmsmen to put our nose windward. Don't get any closer to the shore. I'm afraid we're too close as it is. We should have been able to see the lighthouse by now." He was afraid that the lighthouse wasn't visible because the shore was blocking their view of it.

Just then, a bright lightening illumined the sky and a dark mass before them.

"Light off the port bow," shouted lookout.

"Turn full to starboard," Norrington commanded. He too saw the light.

"Reefs off the port bow!"

With a crippled wheel, the _Dauntless_ was performing the turn unsatisfactory. The boiling, white reef line was getting closer. Norrington was forced to use extra sails to complete the turn, the same ones that could have thrown them against the rocks if the wind suddenly changed. Their luck held. The _Dauntless_ broke apart the white foam by the reefs with the port bow, barely missing them and picked up by the wind battled into the less dangerous waters. As they couldn't enter the bay anymore, open waters was a preferable option. The ship had no business on land, especially stuck on a rock between the land and the sea where the raging elements were ready to throw them.

The storm came crushing down on them, punishing men who had dared to risk testing its power. As Groves bumped into him, Norrington saw his face for an instant. Lieutenant's jaw was set stubbornly, but his brow was creased and his eyes held fear. Norrington had no reassuring words. They were trapped in the middle of the hurricane that tossed and toyed with the _Dauntless_ like she was a small nutshell. The wind rose to eighty five knots, gripping the ship, seeking the tiniest cracks, slightest weaknesses to rip off and carry overboard anything secured too weakly against it. The sea and the sky merged together as one. Thunder and lightening rolled all around them. Each wave rose higher than the next one, throwing the ship into the sky and then down in between crushing waves. Norrington wondered how much strength his crew had left to see the struggle to the end. Weariness crept into his bones. He had been on duty all previous night and day, feeling restless. He shrugged and shook it off. The _Dauntless_ was holding on in this exhausting struggle. She was broad, reinforced and heavy. Tipping her over was no easy task even for a hurricane. Without any elegance, but stubbornly she kept scaling waves one after another. He was confident, they could endure this wind until the morning - unless, something damaging happened to the ship.

It was then that the bindings that held upper sail snapped. The sail broke loose. No one could have gotten anywhere near it on top of the dancing masts. The wind instantly sunk its claws into the fabric. The _Dauntless_ heeled and tumbled off a wave. It flew uncontrollably at an arc towards the shore. "Cut down the main mast!" Norrington yelled at the top of his lungs. His voice broke. Warren and Groves had disappeared from his side. The mast snapped in half on its own and tumbled down, tangling up with the rigging of the mizzen mast, breaking it too. A tall wave raised the ship into the clouds in final round and threw her against the rocks with a deadly force.

Norrington lost his footing and rolled across the deck in the shower of splinters and planks. He must have temporarily blacked out. The next thing he knew was Warren shaking him. Unable to shout over the surrounding noise, Norrington pointed at the lifeboats. He didn't need light to know that the _Dauntless_ was beyond repair. He clutched his throat to show that he couldn't speak. Warren understood. Perhaps it was a small mercy that he wasn't the one to shout 'Abandon Ship!'

However, leaving the ship was as good as staying onboard. The lifeboats were powerless and insignificant against the raging tide. The evacuation was going with difficulty. Norrington forced himself to hold his head high and look at his crewmen whom he had taken to the gates of death. He saw every last of them off and then gave a push to Warren, motioning the man to the last boat. It would be over soon, he thought. He had no excuses. It was only fitting to die with his ship. Warren must have guessed his thoughts. Swiftly, he grabbed Norrington and threw them both off balance. They tumbled into the lifeboat before Commodore had a chance to resist. The boat separated from the ship. Norrington froze, afraid to tip them over if he fought. Warren, however, maintained a firm grip on his wrists. The men rowed fiercely with their lives on the line, fighting a lost battle. Norrington peered into the darkness. It was difficult to tell how far they were from the shore. One of the waves turned over their boat with ease.

Because lieutenant had been holding his hand, they ended up in the water close together. James swallowed a lot of water and went under. As it turned out, they were closer to land than he thought. His feet touched rocky bottom and he pushed against it, floating up. Warren was still nearby, also swimming to shore. They fought the mad tide. The waves kept knocking them off their feet, trying to drag them back into the icy depths. There was a line of rocks ahead. James hurried to it to secure against the onslaught of the next wave. He grabbed onto the rocks, but his lieutenant, fallen behind, didn't make it. The wave pushed him forward and hit him against the rocks. James dived into the vortex, searching for Warren. Wet cloth hit his face and he grabbed blindly, soon finding a hand. Norrington secured the unconscious man on his shoulder and dragged him to shore. Warren was a dead weight on him.

After eternity he made it out of the waves' reach. He dropped onto his knees completely exhausted. Warren was not moving. James ripped the navy coat and shirt off the man. He had to restore Warren's breathing. He followed through the first aid procedure perfectly, having done it before, but there was no change in the man's condition. James reached for his hand, looking for the signs of life. It was limp in his hard grasp. A lightening illumined wide-opened eyes of a man no older than twenty. James closed Warren's eyes. His anger was gone. All that was left was a lingering sadness. He kept holding the young man's hand numbly.

His eyes strayed to the sea where the pride of the British Empire was torn apart and lost to the wind and waves. Then, he traced a path to the shore, wondering how many of her crew will not make it to safety. He tried to recall the words of a prayer for them, but only two words spun through his mind endlessly - disgraced and lost.


End file.
